The Joy of Pointlessness: How Floorball Taught Me to Reclaim Play
There’s something profoundly liberating about doing something utterly pointless—especially when you’ve spent years convincing yourself that every minute must be productive. That’s the lesson I’ve taken from my unlikely journey into the world of floorball, a sport I’d never heard of until my daughter started playing it. What began as a casual observation of her games turned into a personal rebellion against the relentless grind of working motherhood. And let me tell you, it’s been nothing short of transformative.
The Spark of Envy
Watching my daughter’s floorball matches was like peering into a parallel universe. Here were 10-year-olds, sticks in hand, chasing a ball with unbridled joy. The game itself is a chaotic symphony of motion—part hockey, part pinball, all adrenaline. What struck me wasn’t just their energy but the sheer fun of it. As a mother of three, fun had become a distant memory. My days were a Sisyphean cycle of lunchboxes, laundry, and work deadlines interrupted by vomiting toddlers. I was tired, not just physically but existentially.
What many people don’t realize is how easily adulthood strips us of play. We convince ourselves that leisure is a luxury we can’t afford, that joy is frivolous. But watching those girls, I felt a pang of envy so sharp it was almost painful. I wanted that freedom, that recklessness. So, I decided to take it.
The Birth of a Team
Assembling a floorball team was equal parts desperation and comedy. I recruited mothers in the school car park, bribed colleagues with office tea, and even chased a stranger off a bus because she mentioned playing hockey as a child. The result? A ragtag group of seven women, most of whom had never held a floorball stick. We showed up to our first match in pyjamas, with children in tow and not a clue between us.
What makes this particularly fascinating is how it mirrors the way we often approach new challenges in life. We’re afraid of looking foolish, of failing, so we avoid them altogether. But there’s something beautiful about embracing incompetence. Our debut match was a masterclass in chaos—we tripped, collided, and scored a goal for the opposing team. Yet, it was one of the most alive I’d felt in years.
The Power of Pointlessness
Here’s the thing about floorball: it’s utterly pointless. It doesn’t solve world hunger, cure diseases, or even burn a significant number of calories. And that’s precisely why it’s so revolutionary. In a world that demands constant productivity, doing something purely for the joy of it feels like an act of defiance.
Personally, I think this is where many of us go wrong. We’ve been conditioned to believe that every activity must have a purpose, a measurable outcome. But what if the point is simply to feel alive? During that first match, as I chased the ball with zero strategy and even less skill, I felt my mental load lift. No more worrying about climate change, interest rates, or microplastics. Just the burn in my legs, the thud of my heart, and the absurdity of it all.
The Beauty of Imperfection
Our team is still at the bottom of the league. We rarely train, and our strategy remains non-existent. But that’s not the point. What matters is that we show up, laugh at ourselves, and remember what it feels like to play. When I look at the photo from our first game, I don’t see failure. I see women who’ve reclaimed a piece of themselves.
One thing that immediately stands out is how rarely adults allow themselves to be this vulnerable. We’re so afraid of looking incompetent that we miss out on the joy of trying something new. Floorball has taught me that imperfection isn’t just acceptable—it’s essential. It’s in the messiness that we find connection, laughter, and, yes, joy.
A Broader Lesson
If you take a step back and think about it, the story of my floorball team is a microcosm of a larger cultural shift. We’re living in an era where burnout is almost a badge of honor, where self-care is often reduced to a checklist of productivity hacks. But what if the real antidote to exhaustion is simply to do something pointless?
From my perspective, this isn’t just about floorball. It’s about reclaiming the parts of ourselves we’ve lost in the pursuit of efficiency. Whether it’s painting, dancing, or chasing a ball around a gym, the act of play reminds us that we’re more than our to-do lists. It’s a reminder that life doesn’t always need a purpose—sometimes, it just needs to be lived.
Final Thoughts
As I write this, I’m sitting in my backyard, stick in hand, practicing my shots. My kids are arguing in the kitchen, and the cockatoos are screeching overhead. It’s chaotic, it’s imperfect, and it’s perfect. Floorball hasn’t solved my problems, but it’s given me something far more valuable: permission to be pointless.
What this really suggests is that joy isn’t something we find—it’s something we create. So, here’s my challenge to you: find your version of floorball. Do something that makes no sense, that serves no purpose, that brings you unadulterated joy. Because in a world that demands so much of us, sometimes the most radical thing you can do is simply to play.
